


a million dirty ways

by milkteeth



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:43:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkteeth/pseuds/milkteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he wanted to he could turn around right now and touch him, he thinks, trace a line from his neck all the way down to the base of his spine; make him shiver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a million dirty ways

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt over at 1dkinkmeme. Liam/Zayn, wanking.  
> (Filled anon there because my lj account isn't linked to this account.)

This whole sleeping in the same beds thing isn’t new. Zayn feels like it’s just an extension of everything else; of clothes-sharing and touching all the time and if other people think it’s weird that he can list every meal that Louis’ eaten that day or that Harry is always finishing Niall’s sentences well, he could care less.

Sometimes they get their own rooms; usually end up sneaking into each others’ and falling asleep on the sofa or curled up at the end of the bed. Zayn knows for a fact that Harry has trouble sleeping without Louis’ arm tucked warm and familiar underneath him. 

Tonight though, Zayn’s sharing with Liam, and it’s not like they haven’t slept in the same bed at least ten times before that he could list off the top of his head but this feels different and he can’t quite pinpoint why. 

They’re lying side by side each facing outwards, dull moonlight leaking in from outside through the window and onto the bed, illuminating their shapes in the darkness. Zayn faces the window, eyes half closed, and tries to ignore the thoughts flashing into his brain. Thoughts about Liam on stage earlier tonight, about watching him tugging on Louis’ arm and grinning, mischievous smile spilling out onto his lips. Zayn had tried to focus on the baseline, the crowd, and every time his gaze kept returning to Liam, the lights haloing him from behind so that he looked practically angelic. 

Behind him, Zayn can almost feel the heat radiating from Liam’s body, shirtless and freshly showered, smelling of hotel soap and detergent. If he wanted to, he could turn around right now and touch him, he thinks, trace a line from his neck all the way down to the base of his spine; make him shiver. 

Zayn shakes his head, tries to ignore the heat pooling low in his stomach and wriggles down further into the sheets, placing one arm directly outside the covers and the other underneath his thigh to stop himself from doing anything stupid. Instead he only succeeds in moving closer to Liam, the heel of his foot kicked back and resting against Liam’s calf. 

Christ, Zayn thinks, wonders if it would be too obvious to move away now, bites his tongue for something else to focus on because Liam’s shifting closer, too, his breathing steady so that Zayn knows he’s halfway asleep and completely oblivious. 

His hands find their way to the waistband of his pyjama pants of their own accord and Zayn tries his best not to think as he fingers the drawstring tie; swallows repeatedly and licks his lips and thinks he could stop himself from doing this if he really wanted to. Liam shifts beside him again and now Zayn’s getting hard to the sound of his best friend moving behind him, the sound of his low even breaths filling the room. 

Trying his best to keep quiet, Zayn moves his hand to the crotch of his pants where he can feel the distinct outline of his erection already forming. He drags his fingers over the lump, shivers and immediately feels guilty, tucks his hand under his side again and squeezes his eyes shut tight. 

He tries to think of dead puppies or whatever you’re supposed to, attempts to recall what he’s done previously in situations like this. Well, in similar situations, because honestly getting a hard on because of his band mate while at the same time sharing a bed with him isn’t exactly charted territory for Zayn. It doesn’t help much though, no matter how hard he tries to think the least sexy thoughts he can (hemorrhoid cream; those hairless cats that are all wrinkly). Instead he feels himself growing even harder and involuntarily arches up, trying desperately to get some kind of friction against the fabric. It works a little and he concentrates harder, thrusts again so that the bed trembles and he freezes, listens for any sound coming from the other side of the bed. 

So clearly that isn’t going to work, he thinks. He waits until he’s sure he hasn’t stirred the sleeping presence next to him before carefully pulling his hand out from his side and brushing it over his dick, now straining uncomfortably against the fabric of his pyjama pants. He swallows again before tucking his hand underneath the elastic and pushing inside, trying not to gasp too loudly as his hand lands outside the fabric of his boxer shorts, his dick twitching automatically. 

Quickly he moves to find purchase, wrapping his hand around the length of himself and tugging once. It’s not nearly enough though, and tentatively he presses his hand under the next layer, underneath his boxer shorts so that he’s got easy access now, grasping himself directly. 

Zayn bites his lower lip as he slowly starts to pump up and down his erection, head swirling with the memory of the crowd screaming their names only hours earlier on stage, hoards of people singing his name back to him, shouting Liam’s name, too. 

The thing that catches and stays though, is the memory of Liam running off stage in front of him, turning around to grin at Zayn hugely, his brown eyes a shining reflection of his own. Liam had waited for him, pulled him close even though they were both hot and sweating from the stage lights, his hand slipping to land low on Zayn’s waist as they walked, their hips bumping together. 

His breaths come out more shallow with each thrust and he bites down harder on his lip until he thinks he tastes blood. He’s starting to work up a good rhythm, turning slightly for a better angle and barely stifling a moan, the familiar heat beginning to pool again.

Just as he’s thinking he might get away with this finally, he hears a groan penetrate the silence. Zayn freezes, horrified that he let the sound escape when he suddenly realises-- he didn’t. Twisting his neck slightly he spies the similarly stiffened form next to him, the covers slung low down just under Liam’s hips so that Zayn can see his hand curled in front of him like a mirror image of himself. 

Maybe he’s imagining it, Zayn thinks, scrambling to organise his thoughts. He doesn’t risk moving a muscle though, just in case, instead waits for the other boy’s breathing to even out or for him to turn and reveal that he’s simply sleeping after all.

What happens next is definitely not what Zayn expected. Slowly but surely the figure beside him starts to shift, the muscles in his bicep taut and straining with each movement. From the corner of his eye Zayn can see very clearly, the curve of Liam’s ass as he thrusts forward into his own hand quietly, even though Zayn knows that Liam’s aware he can hear him. 

Suddenly Zayn’s achingly hard, and aware of his hand still wrapped around his own dick. The sight of Liam moving beside him is almost enough to make him come right there but he doesn’t, instead begins to stroke himself again, thumb circling the tip where a sticky lubricant is starting to form. He doesn’t dare make a sound save for heavy panting, just as the figure next to him stays silent, reasoning that if they stay quiet they can pretend this isn’t real, that they can pretend later it never even happened. 

Behind him, a strangled whimper muffled into the pillowcase tells Zayn that Liam’s finished and it’s just the thing to push him over the edge. With a final thrust he spills out onto his hand, warm and wet, jaw tight and willing himself not to cry out. 

Neither boy says a word or goes to clean up in the bathroom for fear of shattering the delicate balance they’ve created. Zayn listens carefully for Liam’s still shallow breathing, the sound almost making him hard again. Enough, he tells himself though and grits his teeth, watches the patterns of light play against the bedspread as a distraction, the trees intercepting the moonlight streaming through.

He waits until he’s sure Liam’s asleep before he allows himself to drift off, and he’s half asleep, his eyelids drooping when he swears he hears the sound of Liam whispering, “Night Zayn.”

He could have imagined it of course, he’s barely thinking straight, sleep already beginning to seep in at the edges and that’s probably why he responds without a second thought, “Night Li.”

The last thing he remembers before he finally succumbs to sleep is the sensation of someone’s fingers tangling with his own under the covers, fingertips squeezing his own once before letting go.


End file.
